


Seeking Good

by airshipcity



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Magic, Consensual Possession, Gen, Mention of recreational drug use, Road Trips, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 06:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10483887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airshipcity/pseuds/airshipcity
Summary: Set in the Inquisition era. Imshael isn't completely destroyed by the Inquisitor; just devastatingly weakened. His only hope of recovery without going back to the Fade requires him to keep a host until he regains his strength... if only he can find someone willing to strike a deal.Enter Jowan.





	1. A Thoroughly Stupid Thing

**Author's Note:**

> "Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives." -Oscar Wilde

The first time Jowan tried his hand at blood magic, it was with Uldred’s instructions and guidance. A secret session in the senior mage’s personal quarters; a discreet dagger bestowed upon him from teacher to pupil, used to slice a thin cut on Jowan’s thigh - the templars were less likely to check there, more concerned with visible cuts on hands and arms and other more accessible areas of the body. 

The pain itself wasn’t the worst part. The cut wasn’t too deep, and it was only supposed to be an introduction to the forbidden art. No, the real distraction was in the whispering voice that belonged to neither him nor Uldred, who was quietly chanting a whole other host of magically imbued words. The whispering voice seemed to be in him, around him, encompassing him like a warm, thick fog. 

“You want to learn the art?” it whispered. 

Yes. Yes, he needed to learn. 

“It’s a difficult choice. But... it is a choice, all the same. You can commit to it and gain the power you seek, to escape - it’s what you want, right? To escape this dreadful place and go with her, somewhere better, somewhere free?” 

More than anything. 

“You can have the power. But it’ll come at a price. Your other option, of course, is to remain here, powerless, but at least you’ll never have to worry about her finding out.” 

She couldn’t know. She didn’t need to know. All he needed was to be a little stronger, a little better, to be able to protect her as well as himself. 

“So you’ve made your choice? You can’t undo it, you know.” 

Yes. 

By the time Jowan came to his senses and felt the sting from his thigh again, it was well overshadowed by the shock of the sound of Uldred falling backwards. He looked exhausted, but satisfied; refusing Jowan’s outstretched arm as he tried to help the senior mage up. 

“You’re learning faster than I expected,” he breathed, a sort of grim pride in his words. The whispering voice was gone now; it was just the two of them and a clarity that had seemed to be absent as the whispers had been present. “When you learn to control it... You might be stronger than either of us anticipated. How interesting.” 

\--- 

The real surprise when Jowan spoke to the man in Emprise du Lion wasn’t the oddly familiar mage outfit, or the tired but somehow invigorated look on his face - it wasn’t even the way he flickered, as though he was struggling to uphold a corporeal form. 

It was the whisper of his voice as he spoke. 

“A mage... no, an apostate. And not just a regular wayward mage... You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” 

Jowan’s palms felt cold, clammy, and he tightened the grip around his staff to the point where he almost feared the wood might break. 

“You’re a demon,” he muttered, head swimming. The hushed, enticing voice was a reminder of a time he thought he’d finally managed to put behind himself. 

He’d left Ferelden. He’d left blood magic behind after the series of catastrophic events that had led him to exiling himself in fear of being found. He’d even left Lily behind; not that he expected he’d ever find her again, not after what he’d done. She wouldn’t even want to see him, in all likelihood. The memories stung in his chest and pricked at his eyes. 

And now, the entity that had granted him the power he’d craved was here. The one who’d given him the power to save Lily, but had wrenched her from him and nearly driven him mad in the time after. 

“A spirit. Haven’t we met before?” the voice continued curtly. The man - demon - spirit? - looked up at him. He was leaning against the trunk of a particularly old tree, examining Jowan with what appeared to be extremely mild interest. 

“No.” Jowan gritted his teeth, trembling more due to the terror of the memories than due to the cold, though he could certainly have done with some furs on him now; the cold season had only just set in, but it had done so with unexpected vigor. The reason Jowan had even found the entity here in the first place was because the crimson blood trail was so fresh and bright against the white snow that covered the ground around them. 

“Don’t lie to me.” The spirit seemed to almost take personal offense. “You... yes, you’re a blood mage. And you recognize my voice. You wanted to protect her.” A dark smile formed on his face, before he cringed, grasping quietly at the still-bright snow around the tree trunk. 

Jowan furrowed his brow in anger and confusion, before his eyes widened. “You’re hurt.” 

“Clearly.” He sounded more annoyed now, but his face betrayed a vulnerability Jowan was certain the demon didn’t even know he was showing. 

“What’s to stop me from finishing you off?” Jowan eventually asked. His voice was quiet, almost hollow, almost confident. “If you’re... If you’re really a demon, someone who tricks mages into blood magic and probably causes all kinds of mayhem--” he gestured around, to all the blood strewn around the small hill-- “then I have every reason to fight you. To make sure you can’t ever do that again.” 

The flash of rage in the demon’s eyes made Jowan take a step backwards. “I’m a choice spirit,” he said, enunciating each word. “I never tricked you. I give people choices. If they regret them afterwards, because they didn’t like the price, that’s their own fault. You could’ve backed away when it was offered, but you didn’t. Don’t blame me for what you sought out yourself.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

The demon - or spirit - laughed. He sounded weary, but still amused. “You’re not going to. You’re going to try to make a deal.” 

“I don’t do deals with demons anymore,” Jowan insisted. “Much less with the same one that already destroyed my life.” 

“CHOICE. SPIRIT.” The ground below Jowan seemed to tremble faintly with the words, as though they resonated through the very earth around them. He looked at the entity again, who was breathing heavily now, gritting his teeth in an not entirely successful effort to keep his shape. He was flickering now, muddy and unreal, but still distinctly human-looking to the eye unless Jowan really focused on him. 

It took the spirit a few moments to compose himself, before he spoke again. “You’ll try to make a deal,” he whispered, sounding more steadfast now, “because I know where she is.” 

Jowan’s mouth suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. “Who?” 

“Lily.” 

Jowan’s heart skipped a beat or two, though it felt as heavy as lead. 

“Don’t. Don’t you dare speak of her when you’re the reason I lost her.” 

“You chose to seek out the power and take it,” the entity answered, clearly irritated again. “You chose to use it. You chose to lie to her. She chose to trust you, and then to turn herself in after you betrayed her. All I did was give you what you asked for.” 

“You can’t possibly fix that.” It felt as hollow as it sounded. While he had long since accepted that he wouldn’t get her back and that she was unlikely to ever forgive him for that breach of her trust, there was a part of him that still ached for her forgiveness. For just one more smile. For even just knowing she was safe and alive somewhere. 

“Isn’t she worth the risk?” The voice dropped. It sounded deeper now, more guttural and serious. “I need choices to feed off. You… well, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose, let’s be honest here.” 

“What would I have to give you?” Jowan couldn’t feel his hands or feet anymore. Perhaps it was the cold, or the intense focus he was giving the demon, or the way reality seemed to slip through his fingers, the more he tried to lock his eyes onto the slumped shape. Either way, he lowered his staff, just enough for the demon to properly look up at him again and meet his eyes. 

“Your body. Just for a time,” he added, almost casually. “I won’t take up your body forever, and you’ll mostly be in control, but I need… a host. Just until I can regain my strength. In return, I’ll bring you to her and lend you some, ah, extra spellpower, so to speak.” 

“Why not just tell me where she is?” 

“Please. I wouldn’t gain anything from that.” 

Jowan clenched his jaw, staring down at him. “And the other choice?” 

“Ah. Finally learning the rules to this game,” the spirit said, a grin spreading across his unclear features. He seemed to almost relax. “The other choice, of course, is the one you presented. You do your best to put me out of my misery, earning yourself some short-lived satisfaction at having found a scapegoat to blame your own mistakes on, and most likely, you never see dear Lily again. Fully aware for the rest of your miserable life that you let her slip through your fingers once again, even when she was offered on a silver platter.“ 

“You don’t gain anything from that either,” Jowan eventually said. The spirit shrugged. 

“No. But it is a choice, and all choices have consequences. All you have to do is make the choices and live with them afterwards.” 

“I could just leave you here.” 

“You could. Which would also have consequences, none of which would give you any satisfaction.” The entity closed his eyes. “Just uncertainty.” 

Jowan and the spirit were quiet for a while, until the latter finally opened his eyes again, staring unflinchingly at the Fereldan. He extended a hand, as though offering a handshake, or asking to be helped up to his feet. 

“What will it be, mage?” 

“You won’t hurt her if you bring me to her?” Jowan’s voice shook. 

“I won’t touch her.” 

Another moment passed. Jowan drew an unsteady breath, summoning his courage, and took the hand. 

Just as he did, the spirit became a flurry around him; a semi-solid wind that pushed against all of his body, squeezing his lungs, hammering against his head and his heart, and it felt as though a whole crowd of hands grasped onto his neck, his wrists, his ankles, tearing and squeezing-- 

and then it was over, and the world around him darkened. 

\--- 

When Jowan woke up, the sky had started to grow darker - the looming glow of green on the horizon was ever-present, of course, but the sun was falling, and wiltering grass tickled his ears as he blearily blinked his way awake. 

He sat up. There was still some snow on the ground, yes, but he wasn’t quite in the Emprise anymore - if anything, he was on the outskirts, closer to the Fereldan borders - and around the spot where he’d been resting, all the snow seemed to have been melted away. 

Maker, his head hurt, though. There was a throbbing, dull pain that wouldn’t settle for a while, and he was devastatingly hungry. 

“I could get you a delicious meal right now, if you choose.” 

The voice came from inside his head. Not all around him, as the first time, or from a visible source, like the last time; this resonated in his skull as though it belonged there, like his own thoughts, but clearer and louder. 

And with that, the headache very nearly melted away, replaced by an ice cold shiver that climbed down his spine and vibrated all the way to his toes and fingertips. 

“Well?” the voice purred. “Think about it. The feast you’ve only ever dreamed of. Not like those tasteless stews in Kinloch Hold. No, I’m talking _good_ food. Mouth-watering nug chops, fresh vegetables, sauces that would make Orlesian nobles weep in delight.” 

“Did you bring me here?” Jowan said curtly, interrupting the spirit’s offer. He ignored the treacherous rumble from his empty stomach. 

The spirit paused for a moment. “Of course I did.” 

“So we’re headed back towards Ferelden,” Jowan concluded. “This is the same way I came.” 

“Well, you wanted to find her, didn’t you? Trust me. Taking the sea route up to the Free Marches is a lot quicker than going the long way around the Imperial Highway. Besides,” the spirit croned, “you’d never get though Val Royeaux in one piece. They’d chew you up and spit you out, and complain you taste of dog filth.” 

So they were headed north. North could mean the Free Marches, Nevarra, the Anderfels, Tevinter… He furrowed his brows. Either way, it meant he had a fairly long journey ahead of him. With this dangerous spirit for company. 

“We better get moving, then,” he murmured, glad no one could hear him muttering to himself like some madman. 

“Without a bite to eat first?” the spirit teased. Jowan rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve been on the run for nearly a decade, you know. I can feed myself.” 

“Have it your way,” the voice responded. “For now.” 

“See, if you don’t want me to think you’re a demon, you should really reconsider sounding so ominous all the time.” 

\--- 

For the most part, the spirit kept quiet as Jowan walked. More surprisingly, he didn’t encounter anyone or anything else for a while, either - when he’d been headed west, there would usually be animals and benevolent beasts between the trees, peering out at him; this time, they seemed to be keeping their distance, as though they could sense something had changed. 

Even the chirping of birds had subsided noticeably since he’d taken the spirit’s offer. Jowan couldn’t help but feel a little miserable at the seeming lack of life around him; in the tower, getting a moment to be truly alone had been almost impossible, but now he missed the bustle of quiet sounds around him. The turning of a page, the shuffle of clothes, the occasional metallic sounds as the templars shifted and moved, the quiet chatter between mages and apprentices in disagreement, the resonance of snores at night - sometimes, it had been infuriatingly distracting not to ever get a proper half hour of silence, but at the very least, he rarely felt alone. Even on the run, there had usually been sounds of life around him, even if it was no more than the occasional deer or fennec sniffing around, or the crackle of a campfire, or in a pinch, Jowan singing songs and chants to himself just to make sure he wouldn’t forget them. 

Now, he had company that wouldn’t and couldn’t leave him, and yet he felt more lonely than he had in years. 

“Do you happen to have a name?” Jowan asked, his voice breaking the silence with a breath that hung in the air. 

“Most spirits don’t, I’m sure you know.” 

It was a tentative answer; evasive, in a way, but it sounded to Jowan as though the spirit wanted him to push further. A brief smile formed on his lips. 

“So you consider yourself to be just another common spirit, then? Because that’s not the impression I got.” 

“Really,” the voice responded, with a sense of pride that surged through Jowan’s own body, surprising him for a second. “What do you think I am, then?” 

“Well, a stronger one, at least.” He hesitated - the word he wanted to use was demon, but riling the spirit up already seemed unwise, even to Jowan. “And… I know some of the older, stronger ones have names. I’d make guesses, but the tower’s library was somewhat censored on those kinds of texts.” 

The dryness in Jowan’s voice only seemed to amuse the spirit further. He took a left turn, heading northwards, on an instinct that didn’t come from experience or knowledge. 

“You may call me Imshael, if you wish.” 

He mouthed the word, letting it roll silently off his tongue. “It’s a good name,” Jowan conceded. “I’m Jowan.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s kind of creepy that you know.” 

“I’m inside your head, your mind, your body. I know your deepest wishes and needs. Surely, me knowing your name isn’t the creepiest part of this.” 

Jowan’s lips quirked further upwards. “I was trying not to think about that.” 

“If base pleasantries are all you require at the moment, I suppose I can bestow as much.” He sounded bored. “You realize, of course, that I won’t be able to help you with anything if you never give me anything in return.” 

“I gave you my name, didn’t I?” 

“Your masters must have been very disappointed when you grew to be snide rather than clever.” 

Jowan huffed. “You really know how to bring a guy down.” 

“If you only knew.” 

“You’re doing it again,” Jowan warned. “I’m going to start thinking of you as a demon again if you keep saying weird things like that.” 

The voice offered a somewhat upset noise. “Don’t.” 

“Are you going to stop sounding like a mass murderer, then?” 

There was no response. Jowan tapped his fingers against his staff, grinning a little bit. 

“See, we’ll get along just fine, Imshael.” 

“Maybe.” 

Somewhere ahead, a bird chirped, before taking flight and soaring up into the green-streaked sky. Jowan smiled again, his features softening, and followed the instincts that led him northwards.


	2. The Only Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." -Oscar Wilde

In retrospect, he should’ve noticed it earlier. 

\--- 

There was a blatant discrepancy between the words coming out of Jowan’s mouth and the words he had intended to say, which is to say, he hadn’t actually yet decided what to say. Even so, with a pleasantness that didn’t come from himself, his own voice had ordered a room for the night at an inn called the Handmaiden’s Favor, a dingy but well-oiled place that smelled of cheap wines and a surprising amount of varying herbs. 

This seemed to Jowan to be a slight inconvenience. He bit his lip and said nothing about it, though, until the door was closed behind him and he found himself facing a bed and a window and a small bedside table, and little else. (Well, except for an unpleasant stench of smoked herbs, though there was little to do about that.) 

“You said you’d let me be in control,” he hissed into the empty room. 

“I said you’d _mostly_ be in control,” Imshael corrected. “We’re not sleeping outside in makeshift tents if it can be helped. It’s not as though anyone is going to recognize you, you know.” 

“Oh, please. You can’t know that.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” 

Jowan sat down on the bed, idly peering into the drawer of the small table. “Because there’s no way you could know everything about me. I’ll grant that you might probably know a lot more than I’m entirely comfortable with, but not everything.” 

He leaned back on the bed, resting against the wall. “Fair enough,” Imshael conceded. “But I know what I need to know.” 

“Like what?” 

“I know there are people out there who would recognise you for who you are.” 

\--- 

The time in the dungeons in Redcliffe was the hardest. 

If the loss of Lily and everything he knew were fresh, open wounds, his actions in Redcliffe were the salt that had been unceremoniously rubbed into them. 

He hadn’t even made it to the South Reach before he’d been caught, by the king-regent’s men, no less - and before they had time to send word to the Circle Tower to inquire about him, they’d been informed to send him to Redcliffe on a very specific mission to earn himself a royal, highly under-the-table pardon if he could accomplish his task. 

Poisoning a man was difficult enough to plan. Poisoning a good man and father who only wanted the best for his family and his town was difficult in a whole other way. 

To Jowan’s credit, he did genuinely do his best to tutor Connor; the fact that Connor failed to resist the temptation of asking a demon for assistance wasn’t his fault. Still, he blamed himself. 

“Can’t you fix my father?” Connor had asked, increasingly desperate every time. “He’s so sick, Jowan, what if he doesn’t wake up?” 

Jowan couldn’t do more than give him pained looks of sympathy. What would Connor think if he knew Jowan was the one responsible for the Arl’s sickness in the first place? 

“There’s only so much magic can do, Connor. I’m sorry, I really am.” 

It was the truth, at least. But he still felt like shit. Arl Eamon deserved better. Connor deserved better. The Arlessa… well, she wasn’t wrong to blame him. 

It wasn’t a pleasant thing to reflect on in the dank dungeons, with little but cold, damp stone for company and the occasional torture. The Arlessa wanted answers at first - by the end, it was apparent to both of them that the only thing to be gained from those sessions was some quiet satisfaction for her; the knowledge that the man who had wreaked havoc on her family and her town in the worst way would at least get what he deserved; that he would suffer as much as she did. 

All he wanted to do was to fix it. He would’ve given nearly anything in order to make up for what he’d done - he’d take the suffering, the torture, if that was the only way he could make one person feel better. 

But he was a mage. He could do so much more - at the very least, he could try, if someone would let him. The Arlessa wouldn’t listen, and he could hardly fault her. 

When he finally saw a very familiar face in unfamiliar company appear on the other side of the bars, he thought perhaps he’d finally get the chance to get out, to help. To make up for what he’d done, if it was at all possible. 

Why couldn’t they let him? 

\--- 

“The Warden hasn’t been seen in years, if I believe the gossip.” It was hard to say the words out loud. 

“As if you believe your friend would die so easily.” 

Imshael wasn’t wrong. He hoped his friend was still around somewhere, of course he did - but he wasn’t sure it would be all too fortunate if their paths crossed again. 

_Run. I never want to see you again._

And he had. He’d run as quickly as he could, making his way out the back way and escaping into the forest before the next wave of undead could make its way forward - it had been the real start of his new life as an apostate, and the end of Jowan using his own name in Ferelden. It was too dangerous, too risky to take the chance in case templars had been asking for him. He’d taken the name Levyn since then - the first of many, but it had been a long time now since he’d bothered. Fade beings were hard to lie to, anyway. 

His thoughts were interrupted when someone in the room below him knocked rather loudly on the floorboards. “Stop talking to yourself, freak!” a scratchy, high-pitched voice bellowed. He peeked down - the cracks in the floorboards were big enough in one spot that he could make out a pair of pointed ears on a very frustrated-looking young man, probably no older than his late teens. The overpowering smell coming from below made Jowan pull away, though. 

“You put away the wiltroot and I’ll stop talking to myself,” Jowan replied, pointedly coughing. “Ugh. Maker’s breath, I can’t believe people still do that-- that’s really bad for you, I hope you know.” 

“Whatever,” the irritated man said. “Just shut up.” 

“What a thoroughly unpleasant child,” Imshael offered; mercifully, he didn’t use Jowan as a mouthpiece this time. “I could deal with him, if you’d like.” 

“Almost tempting,” he murmured, earning himself another frustrated noise from below. The stench really was filling the whole room - he opened the little window, just to breathe properly. “But I don’t think I’m going to inflict you on a boy, when I could just go back downstairs and let the innkeeper know.” 

“Hey, you’re not going to tell on me, are you?” The young elf sounded a little more nervous this time - not enough to keep the offense out of his voice, but enough that Jowan was reminded of apprentices in the Circle Tower getting caught by their seniors doing things they strictly speaking weren’t supposed to. 

Jowan peered down the crack again, smiling. “I don’t know. Are you going to keep smoking that wiltroot?” 

The boy met his eye, briefly defiant, before he petulantly lowered the broom from the ceiling and threw the wiltroot, stem and leaves and all, out the window. 

“Great. I’d hate to have to tell on you. Same haircolor, I noticed - is she your mom or your aunt?” 

“None of your business,” the elf muttered, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Just-- don’t tell her.” 

“Deal.” 

Imshael didn’t make any further attempts at conversation after that, in part because Jowan was more than ready to go to sleep, but he had a distinct feeling the spirit felt almost proud, or maybe just snubbed of a chance. It was hard to tell. 

\--- 

By the time Jowan was coherent again, he expected to find himself in the same place he’d fallen asleep. Once again, that would turn out to be more than he would get - he was mid-breakfast, sitting with a plate of fried eggs and sizzling nug bacon on his plate; only a few bites had been taken, and judging by the taste in his mouth, he’d been the one to eat those. 

Well, not exactly. Jowan hadn’t done anything, but Imshael had clearly busied himself. 

“What did you do?” Jowan murmured, as quiet as he could, eyes locked on the plate. He poked the eggs around a bit, somewhat suspicious. 

“I got you a free breakfast on the house,” Imshael responded easily. “Don’t ask questions. Just eat and we’ll be on our way.” 

“How?” he breathed. It had been a while since he’d had the luxury of a pre-prepared hot meal like this - it looked delicious, he had to admit, and he was undeniably hungry. But something about the way Imshael had done this without letting Jowan know didn’t sit right with him. 

“I thought I told you not to ask questions.” 

The finality in Imshael’s voice left little room for arguing, much less in an inn with strangers nearby, so Jowan sighed and started on his breakfast for real. It was no feast, but it was a small luxury, and the selfish part of him did appreciate that Imshael had seemingly done something nice for him - it still bothered him not to know how, but he could ask later. It was a nice gesture, if nothing else. 

As he finished up his eggs, scraping the plate to get it all, a dark-haired young elf walked in. He gave Jowan a dirty look, almost like a sneer, before quickly walking into the kitchen without so much as glancing at him again. Jowan frowned, mildly confused. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have much to pack up - his staff, his usual travel essentials, and little else. Just as Jowan was in the middle of paying for the room, the innkeeper leaned over the counter, a serious tinge to her dark eyes. 

“Thank you for telling me about my nephew. He thinks he can get away with everything, but he’ll be doing dishes for the rest of the week, I assure you.” 

Oh. So that’s what Imshael had been up to - breaking Jowan’s promises. 

He took a deep breath, trying not to look too surprised. “Ah… It was nothing. I thought someone should know before he develops a habit.” 

“He won’t have the time, once he sees the list of chores I’ve planned for him,” the elf muttered quietly. “Again, thank you. You’re Fereldan, right? If you come to this side of the border again, you’re welcome to stay here when you need.” 

“Thank you,” Jowan responded, taking his change. Still, he felt guilty. Even though he wasn’t the one who had told on the boy, he was the one who promised not to, and yet, by all appearances, he’d been the one who did anyway. 

The road eastwards was more populated today. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that they were getting closer to the border; at the very least, even Imshael’s hidden presence couldn’t scare off this amount of people and animals, though every now and then, a horse or two would act up when they passed by. 

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of horses,” Imshael offered helpfully as they made their way past an especially skittish caravan of horses. “They’re just dumb beasts.” 

“I spent most of my childhood in a tower, you might recall,” Jowan breathed. “I’m more used to them now, but I heard my share of stories from children who’d accidentally lit the family mare on fire because she kicked someone too hard.” 

“You could still just light them on fire, honestly.” 

“I was thinking we try _not_ to get arrested and killed, actually.” 

Jowan paused, navigating further away from the caravan, until he was reasonably certain no one could hear him speaking quietly. Fortunately, the roads weren’t too crowded; it was still easy enough to get some privacy out here. 

“You told the innkeeper about that elf boy.” His voice was flat; it was a statement, not a question. 

“You’ll never see them again and you got a good meal out of it,” Imshael argued. “You even got another hour of rest while I took over, and the boy won’t be able to sustain the habit you called him out for. Why do you complain?” 

“For starters, I promised him I wouldn’t tell on him,” Jowan argued, fingers tightening around his staff until his knuckles whitened. “And more importantly, you used my body against my will. I agreed to host you, not to let you have your way with my body without consulting me. Especially when I’m not even given a choice.” 

The last word seemed to strike a nerve with Imshael. 

“You’d rather I stay put and do nothing but help you mindlessly on command? You think you can contain me just by saying so?” 

“I think I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt,” Jowan said, lowering his voice. “I think it’s gracious of you to help me, when you could just as easily have taken over my body without giving me any option at all, much less to still have control over my body some of the time.” 

“Then how do you propose we do this?” Imshael sounded strained. 

Jowan bit his lip, trying to choose his words wisely. “Don’t keep me unconscious. If you… if you need to take over for a bit, at least give me a choice, on whether or not to let you. If you keep using my body like that, the deal is off.” 

Imshael didn’t respond. For a while, Jowan almost thought he was being ignored, until the voice finally spoke up again, half a mile later. 

“I was simply trying to do you a favor,” he argued, though slightly more subdued now. “I thought that was what you would have wanted.” 

He did want to tell on the boy and get someone to stop him. Imshael wasn’t entirely wrong. And he’d wanted a meal, well aware that he would’ve gotten up in the morning and left on an empty stomach, hoping to make it until he could hunt down some food for himself. 

“I made a deal with him,” Jowan said. “I’ve lost enough by lying and breaking my promises already.” 

Imshael didn’t argue.


	3. No Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There is no sin except stupidity." -Oscar Wilde

The border between Orlais and Ferelden had always been so very clear from afar, but up close, all Jowan could see was trees that looked the same on both sides.

“What are you waiting for?” Imshael drawled, somewhere inside Jowan’s mind. They’d reached the point now where they were mostly content to communicate in apparent silence, if only to avoid attracting attention. “You’ve been standing here for a while, now.”

“She’s not in Ferelden, right?” Jowan shifted the weight of his backpack from shoulder to shoulder. His gaze was fixed on the leaves of the trees; the colors were fading from green to a reddish hue, and it seemed to him as though the forest itself was mocking him. It was no different this year than all those before, but the warm, bright autumn shades reminded him of her; her hair, her Chantry robes, and the way she laughed, somehow. The mild brown of her eyes. The haunted look she’d given him, the last time they were face to face.

“You know it would be too easy if I simply told you where we’re going,” Imshael responded, impatient. “Of course, I could tell you if you really want, but what would you give me in return, hmm?”

“You already have my body,” Jowan argued. “What else am I supposed to give you? My bedroll? Because I don’t think I have much else to offer.”

“There’s always more to offer.”

“Then I’ll stick with the deal we already have,” he said, drawing a deep breath to shake the feeling of painful nostalgia away. “So, we just follow the Imperial Highway until you say otherwise? Heading north?”

“You _do_ pay attention. Curious.” There was something mock-affectionate in his voice, as though he was praising a pet for learning a trick. It would’ve made Jowan’s skin crawl, if he wasn’t so starved of compliments and attention as he was. “Yes, we’re heading north. Ferelden is simply a very short part of this journey. A week or two, at most. Unless you intend to keep dawdling here for much longer.”

With a sigh, Jowan took a step forward, and then another, and soon enough, Orlais was behind him. Ahead, Ferelden and whatever else this deal would bring.

\---

“Am I an abomination now?”

They had set up camp near the base of the long mountain range of the Frostback Mountains, culminating in Orzammar further north. The small tent and the bedroll were being warmed by the small fire he’d lit with a quick spell, though it seemed nothing could truly keep the chill out of his bones. The leg of nug helped, certainly, but there was only so much a meager creature could do to make up for the energy it took to travel each day.

Imshael sounded vaguely interested in the question. “In the eyes of templars and commoners, certainly. Do you feel like one?”

“I don’t know,” Jowan admitted, throwing a gnawed-done bone into the fire, watching it crackle. “As long as I’m still in control of my own body, I… guess not? This option wasn’t really covered at the Circle. We were always taught to never deal with demons or spirits, never fall into the temptation… or we’d become gruesome monsters. It happened sometimes, you know.”

“Yet here you are, undeterred.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, a nervous laughter accompanying his words. “I mean, I knew better, but I was… I was so afraid, you know? Afraid I wasn’t good enough, or that they’d make me tranquil, or--” His words died out. At some point, he’d started talking out loud again, and the silence was unnerving until the fire sparked at him again, flames licking at a piece of wood.

“Weaker spirits would turn you into an abomination of those kinds, I’m sure,” Imshael responded after an awkward second. “They can’t handle the journey through the Veil and into this world. They want it too badly, only to be consumed by their greed, losing their grip. Which, in a sense, is what happened to those that become possessed too, really.”

“Why didn’t that happen to me?” Jowan murmured. “To us?”

The choice of words apparently threw Imshael off for a moment, because he didn’t respond immediately. “Because I was already on this side of the Veil, obviously,” Imshael eventually huffed. “And because I’m far stronger than those blind, unfettered spirits.”

“Is that it?”

“No. You invited me in and accepted me.” Another brief pause. “You know, it makes a great difference, possessing someone willing rather than having to fight their minds to take over.”

The forest and the mountains were big and imposing in the dark of the night, but compared to the vast feeling of Imshael making himself at home in Jowan’s body, they felt to him as though they were nothing noteworthy at all. “Would you have fought me if I hadn’t agreed?” he asked, apprehensive. But Imshael didn’t answer him, even after nearly half an hour of silence, and finally, Jowan put the fire out and went to sleep.

\---

“You didn’t actually give me a choice,” Jowan said. He’d heard nothing from Imshael in the morning, or over breakfast, or for the first two hours of travelling back up towards the Highway from where they’d set up camp the previous night, but he knew the spirit was still present. As Jowan had expected, the magic word was enough to call him forth for more conversation, and he smiled quietly as the familiar voice echoed against the back of his head.

“Didn’t I? I thought it was a very clear choice. Make a deal, or don’t. Which part of it wasn’t a choice?”

The mild affront in the spirit’s choice rung through his ears from inside. Jowan absent-mindedly toyed with the straps of his backpack as he walked, still near the base of the mountain range; Skyhold was closer than ever now, but he couldn’t take the chance of being seen by Inquisition scouts if it could be helped. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up in the mage-templar war any more than was absolutely required, which as far as Jowan was concerned was “as little as at all possible”.

“Not when you already knew what I was going to choose.”

“Did I? That’s awfully presumptuous of you, mage.”

“You’ve already said you know what all my deepest thoughts and desires are,” Jowan responded, and a part of him couldn’t help but think _desire demon_ , to the clear and telling displeasure of the spirit in question. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“I knew what you wanted,” Imshael said, though there was an eerie tone to his words, like he was holding something back. “I offered it to you, and you were always able and allowed to choose no. I didn’t even offer consequences for turning the offer down. Frankly, it was a steal.”

“But choices are what you do, right? You feed on important choices and their consequences. You said as much already.”

“Exactly.”

“So why didn’t you give me a harder choice? You knew I’d do just about anything for her.”

“No need to scare you away,” Imshael said. He was calm, too calm, and something felt… flat in Jowan’s chest. “It was a win-win situation. I needed a host to regain my strength, and you… well, I knew what you needed.”

Jowan breathed out, a silent cloud of hot air mingling with the cold surrounding them. “So, you admit it wasn’t really much of a choice.”

Imshael didn’t sound happy at all. “I suppose.”

“So why frame it as one?”

“I told you, didn’t I? Forcing someone’s mind out of the way is draining, and I was already struggling. Besides, I prefer dealing. I leave the mindless violence to lower beings, unless I’m left without any other option.”

“You could’ve died if I’d said no, though.” Jowan bit his lip, worn leather boots crunching against the stone below his feet. “Right?”

Imshael laughed. It wasn’t as hollow this time as it had been the few other times Jowan had heard it. “Mage, I’m a lot harder to kill than that. But it would’ve been, ah, an inconvenience. Which is why I made you a good offer.”

“Under the guise of a choice,” Jowan hummed. “I see.”

“Do you regret your choice?” Imshael asked, voice steady. “Do you wish you had left me where you found me?”

“… No. Not yet, at least.”

“The time will come for harder choices,” the spirit said, seemingly satisfied. “Until then, we have much ground to cover, yes?”

The road, sunlit and bare, smiled before him. Jowan took another drag of air into his lungs. “I should hope so.”


End file.
